


Promise

by sock_bealady



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Abby's POV, Canon Compliant, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25209307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sock_bealady/pseuds/sock_bealady
Summary: Joel wants Abby's word.Or:  Joel and Abby recognize the humanity in each other, and it doesn't change a damn thing.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	Promise

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short moment between Joel and Abby that happens during That Scene. It's canon compliant, though if you want to see it as the prequel to a fix-it, I won't judge. Heed the warnings - this is pretty dark.

Joel Miller screamed hoarsely as Abby brought the golf club down on his shoulder again. He'd stopped trying to hold back a little while ago. Maybe he thought his cries might placate Abby. He was wrong. She whipped him across the face, slashing another cut into the ruined skin above his eye. She shook out her arms, giving him a moment for the haze to clear, before swinging down to strike just above the tourniquet. 

Her shoulder ached. And no, this wasn't how she'd pictured it, all those nights lying awake and imagining what she'd do to her father's killer. All those mornings when she'd glared up at the bench press bar and imagined ramming it into his face. Somehow, those fantasies had always involved some kind of desperate struggle - her surprising him with her strength and skill, getting the upper hand, beating him into submission rather than just beating him . . . but, what the hell. Dad wouldn't have wanted her to risk getting hurt. And she sure as hell wasn't going to let Miller go down easy.

The smuggler slumped after the next blow and Manny shoved him back up. Abby could feel Owen's presence on her other side, silent and disapproving. Owen had wanted to do this by firing squad - he'd had a whole ritual planned out, complete with a blindfold and a last cigarette - but Abby had pointed out that this wasn't a fucking war movie. They were alone - for now. The others had drifted out after Mel had a bout of puking that she would probably try to blame on morning sickness. And Jordan had been banished to the upper levels to keep watch after he'd made about four obscene suggestions for what to do with Miller and Owen had gotten tired of his shit.

The next blow to the head landed a little too hard. The man's groan trailed off into silence as he passed out. Abby grabbed him by the hair and tugged. "We're not fucking done, old man."

His eyes opened, then hardened, then cleared. "Promise me something," he croaked.

Abby released his hair and backhanded him. "I'm not promising you shit."

He lifted his head and continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Promise me . . . that you'll leave my family out of this."

"Of course," Owen said quickly. The bastard actually sounded relieved that he could give Miller something. "We don't retaliate against people's families. This is about justice, not revenge."

The man barked a laugh - a dark, ugly sound with no amusement in it. "Frankly, son, I wasn't talking to you."

Manny kicked him in the side. "You've got some motherfucking balls, you know that? How about we lop them off?"

Abby shoved him back, but the smuggler's eyes never left her face. "What happened between you and me . . . Tommy wasn't a part of it. He ain't left Jackson in almost a decade - ask anyone from town."

Abby's eyes narrowed. "Spare your family." She squatted before him, close enough that they could feel each other's breath. She lifted his chin with the handle of the club. "Why? You didn't spare mine."

He searched her face for long moments. She stared back. She'd always been told she had her father's eyes. "Oh," he said at last, softly.

"Yeah," she said with a brittle laugh, " _Oh._ " She hit him across the jaw with the butt of the club and stood, but he recovered quickly.

"How far you gonna take this, girl? Killing my family won't bring your people back."

The next blow to his ribs drew another scream from him, but as Abby landed it, she wondered why he kept saying "my family" when he could just as easily say "my brother." Could there be . . . No. No point in pulling on that thread. She didn't come here to fucking empathize with him.

He panted for breath, but he wasn't done. " _I_ made a choice. Not him or anyone else. You let this die with me. Or you're not gonna like what you turn into."

She shoved the club into the ugly hole in his leg and twisted. "You think you can make fucking demands? Of me?!"

He gritted his teeth, but when he looked up at her, there was no hatred in his eyes. Just exhaustion. And something else she couldn't place. "No," he ground out, "But you're not a monster. And you ain't gonna do it. I jus' need to hear you say it."

She spun away and paced a few steps, her breath coming quick and sharp, her heart racing, fast as in any fight. The room was silent save for the sound of Joel's ragged panting. At length, she turned back and pointed the club at Tommy Miller's still form. "He comes after us, you can forget it. All bets are off. But, otherwise . . . when it's done, it's done."

The old man licked the blood from his lips and nodded. He drew a slow breath. "You'd best tie him up, then. You ain't gonna like it if he wakes up."

Owen snorted. "He's got a point."

"Shut up, Owen." She jerked her head at Manny, and he obligingly produced a length of rope.

Joel Miller watched his brother for long moments while Manny bound the other man's limp hands behind his back. Abby wished with all her might that, just for one second, he would actually _look_ like the monster who'd destroyed the world. But, you never could tell, could you?

He looked back up at her and nodded as if giving permission.

The next blow was the hardest one yet.

He didn't speak again.


End file.
